I Still Dream of Earthquakes
by I'm Actually Pretty Cool
Summary: (Finnick\OC) Finnick let out a choked sob, moving to kneel down in front of Guinevere, grasping the skirt of her dress and burying his face in her stomach. She gripped his bronze hair tightly, confusion filling her. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly, afraid he would suddenly shut himself out. "He's making me do bad things, Gwen."
1. Chapter 1

_Hello!_

_So I came up with this idea today, and I don't THINK anyone has done this type, but if you feel like I'm copying someone else's idea, TELL ME. I don't want to be stealing anyone else's idea unintentionally._

_So, the beginning takes part through the 65th Hunger Games (Finnick's games) and it will be all the way into Mockingjay, so there will be a little bit of a time skip._

_I hope you enjoy this story._

_**I don't own any recognizable characters. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins.**_

_**Bye!**_

_**-Abby**_

The girl was ushered into the garden by two peacekeepers, both keeping a grip on her upper arms, making sure she wouldn't run. Not that she would; she was visiting her father again anyway. There was no way she would get out of this one.

"Father," she addressed him quietly, and the two peacekeepers released their grip on her. He turned away from the white roses that he was currently trimming, his pale blue eyes taking in her dirtied state of dress.

"Guinevere," he said just as softly, though he had a hint of annoyance and malice hidden beneath the single word he had spoken. His eyes flickered to the two men at her side. "Leave us."

The two men inclined their heads and left without a word.

Her father had gone back to trimming his roses for the time being, and Guinevere waiting patiently. She had learned years ago that her father would speak when he wanted to, and that it was best to leave him alone. He continued to trim the roses for several more minutes, and she grew fidgety, pressing her fingers into her blue skirt, smudging it with the dirt and mud that was on her hands.

Her father turned around, giving the shears to an Avox that was by his side, who immediately hurried away, knowing that he was going to have a private conversation with his daughter.

"You've been in the districts again." It wasn't a question, rather a knowing statement that caused Guinevere to look down towards the ground shamefully. She reached up to scratch the back of her blonde head.

"Yeah…" she muttered. He stared at her, his eyes icy.

"What have I told you about leaving the Capitol?" His voice was calm, though Guinevere knew that he was absolutely livid.

She pursed her lips, biting back a snappy retort and instead settling for saying, "To not leave the Capitol."

"Correct," he said coldly. He reached inside of his expensive coat, bringing out a large Capitol newspaper. On the front page was Guinevere being escorted back into the Capitol earlier this morning, her pale face dirtied by dirt and small scratches from running into the woods on the outskirts of the city walls. "Do you know how this makes us look? How badly this will be for your already ruined reputation?" He pointed to the big bold letters that were saying, "_**FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD GUINEVERE SNOW CAUGHT YET AGAIN FLEEING THE CAPTITOL**_._ See page 32 for more_!"

"I didn't intend on getting caught," Guinevere argued. He handed her the magazine, which she took gingerly, grimacing as she once again saw her picture.

"But you did," her father stated. "Which is why I need to do something."

Guinevere gave him a questioning glance, but her father just pressed a button his watch and a man came hurrying in. He was a thin, tall man, his nose resembling something akin to a beak. He smiled greasily towards her, moving to stand next to his president.

"I was informed that she would be taken to the control room?" The man asked with the smile still stretched across his lips. "She'd be starting Monday, correct?" Her father nodded. Guinevere turned to her father, disbelief coloring her face.

"This is what you're doing?" she asked. The man shifted uncomfortably. "Is this to teach me discipline or some kind of lesson? I don't really see what's such a problem about wanting to get out of this goddamn—"

"Enough," her father snapped sharply, effectively quieting her. "Mr. Tallke is the head Gamemaker. He'll be bringing you to the control room. You're going to be working there from now on, as an assistant to the Gamemakers." He suddenly let a small, smug smirk cross his features as he watched his daughter's facial expression morph into one of shock and anger.

"You can't—" she started, but he simply rose a hand to stop her.

"Yes, I can." He chuckled. "I'm your father. You're going to do as I say." He turned to Mr. Tallke. "You can leave now. You can decide what she does, as long as it's productive."

"Yes, sir." Tallke moved to usher Guinevere awkwardly inside while she glared at her father.

"You're going to enjoy it, I promise."

They traveled across the city to get to the control room.

The control room was large and white, too white it took Guinevere by surprise and she blinked for a moment to try and adjust to the bright room. Tallke paid her no mind and walked into the center of the room, motioning for her to follow him. She complied, and they stood side by side in front of the big holographic table in the center of the room. The holographs were blue, and it seemed that they were programming this year's Hunger Games arena. Guinevere didn't get a close look because Tallke was already taking her over to a desk.

"This is yours from now on," he told her excitedly. He pointed to a tablet on the desk. "This if for recording your data. It had everything you need on it, so you'll be sure to check it every morning when you come in. It has your schedule and instructions, and if you get lost, it'll explain it to you." He smiled eagerly, coaxing her to pick it up. "Go ahead."

She hesitantly took it into her hands, blue eyes looking it over, before she turned it on, gasping softly when holographs sprung from the screen. Only gamemakers were given technology like this, and she was fascinated that she got to use this.

Her joy was short-lived.

The information that was shown was by each district. Next to the districts were times, and Guinevere finally figure out what she would be doing here. She looked up at Tallke. "I'm going to be baby-sitting tributes?"

He laughed nervously, pulling at his sweater. "Not baby-sitting. You're just going to be observing them for an hour a day."

She nodded slowly, trying to process this. "So...I visit their floors everyday?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Alright," Guinevere said softly, running a hand through her hair. "The tributes arrive on Thursday, right? Three days from now? What exactly am I supposed to do when I visit them? Talk?"

Tallke shook his head. "Just watch. They'll explain it to the tributes that you'll be there." His tone told her that he was trying to comfort her. "It's in your best interest that you don't directly interact with them. Understood?" She nodded. "Good, then I'll send someone up tomorrow to walk you through what exactly you'll be looking for. Have a good rest of your evening Miss Snow."

And with that, Guinevere was escorted back to her home.

**Capitol Magazine Article;**

_"Rebellious teen, Guinevere Snow, has yet again visited the outside Districts! It seems that this wild-child can't sit still in her lush mansion. Seen being escorted into the Capitol building this morning at 7 am, the blonde bombshell is covered in all kinds of gunk as she sourly opens the front doors. Why is she visiting the districts? Is there a budding romance involved? Has our Capitol Sweetheart finally found herself a sweetheart of her own? We can only hope! But does her father know? How well do you think that would go, huh? Check next weeks issue to look for anymore updates on this story!"_

_-Lux Glitz_


	2. Chapter 2

_ -Chapter published November 22, 2014-_

_Who will save you now?  
>Who will save you now?<br>Tell the world I'm alive._

_Who Will Save You Now; Les Friction_

-

Finnick was frustrated. Their mentors had yet to arrive and their escort was talking both of their ears off.

Finnick sighed, tuning out the incredibly loud Paris as he chattered animatedly about the Capitol, waving his hands around, making sure he made his point. It was only when he pulled a brightly-colored magazine off the table, that Finnick's interest was piqued, along with the female tribute, Natalie's.

On the front cover was a blonde girl's photo, about Finnick age, covered in dirt and scratched being escorted by two peacekeepers. Her hair was blowing behind her in the wind and she had an extremely annoyed look on her face. She was very pretty, Finnick noted, and he found himself wanting to find out what exactly had happened for her to get into that situation.

His eyes scanned over the words that decorated the front. "_**FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD GUINEVERE SNOW CAUGHT YET AGAIN FLEEING THE CAPTITOL**_." Finnick blinked in shock. This was Snow's daughter? His _daughter_ was caught sneaking out of the Capitol?

"Can you _believe _this girl?" Paris giggled. "I love this rebellious streak she's going through right now!" He waved the paper around yet again happily. "Such a gorgeous girl. I wonder what her stylists are like..."

Natalie moved to pluck the magazine from his hand, opening it up to a page, and began to read what was on the page. "Ooh, she's done this three times apparently." Her tone was teasing and humorous, and she fluffed up her auburn hair dramatically. "The Capitol life must be _so-o-o_ hard."

Paris didn't notice her sarcasm, and Finnick found himself snorting in disbelief as he began to ramble on. "Oh yeah, she's barely got _any_ freedom." He sighed. "I feel bad for the girl."

Finnick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I bet she hardly ever eats."

Growing up in District Four wasn't a hard life. They were a wealthier District, the third wealthiest to be exact, only after One and Two. Food was never too hard to get as long as you had a spear, a fishing pole, or a net. The District was right by the coast of Panem, and the water was abundant in fish. Finnick had worked catching fish most of the time, and he had occasionally made a few nets, though his knots were never as good as the merchants'. He figured that he would get better in that area, though now he was a little wary after seeing the tributes from One and Two.

They were big, at least the boys were, and although Finnick was not particularly small, he was a few years younger than them at fourteen. He could wield a trident very well, and he knew how to handle almost every weapon in at least some way. As a bonus, he knew a fair amount of survival skills as well. He could start a fire, cook and skin animals, and he even knew some of what plants are poisonous. He believed that he had a good chance of surviving.

On top of his skills, he had his looks, which would come in handy at getting sponsors. The more attractive tributes always got more sponsors than the others, and this was when Finnick was really starting to take pride in his looks. His bronze hair and tanned skin was something that would surely win the Capitol citizens over.

The train come to a stop, and they were pulled up in front of the Training Center, where their floors were located at. Natalie gave a smirk and stood up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Finnick followed the sixteen-year-old and the bright man out of the train, where hundreds of screaming people (well, Finnick wasn't completely sure that they were all completely human) were waiting for them. The crowd roared especially loud when Finnick stepped out, and he flashed his pearly white teeth in a wide smile.

That was when he noticed the girl by the entrance.

She was flanked by two peacekeepers, holding a tablet and typing away. She was dressed in a mint green dress, long blonde hair up in a tight bun. She barely noticed them as they stepped out of the train.

It was Snow's daughter.

As they approached the doorway, she looked up, and she blinked for a moment before she seemed to compose herself. "District?" she asked pleasantly. Finnick stared at her for a moment, taking in her delicate features.

"Oh, darling, we're from Four!" Paris squealed, and Guinevere Snow winced almost imperceptibly. "I _love_ your hair, it's divine!"

"Thank you," she said with a small smile and nod of her head. "You're tribute will be taken by their stylists once they're inside. The Parade is beginning in four hours."

"Oh, thank you, Gwen!" Finnick watched as she grimaced, most likely at the nickname, before she waved and gave a weak smile. Finnick turned around to glance at her as they walked away.

She was watching him too.

_Guinevere_

Finnick Odair sure was something.

Guinevere could not deny that he was very attractive, with his bronze hair and sun-kissed tan that brought out his sea green eyes. She had been shocked that the boy was in the Games, perhaps even a little disappointed. He was probably going to die, and she would never even get to talk to him, though she wasn't very interested in having a crush. Especially on a tribute.

As the District Twelve tributes went in through the doors, she checked off the last District from her tablet, before she folded the cover over it. She stepped inside the Training Centers, the two peacekeepers following her. She heard the crowd groan in disappointment, though they all remained in their spots outside the building.

She had to go get ready for the parade.

Her stylist fawned over her as they usually did, throwing compliments in every time they did something. Apollo and Artemis, twins (shocking), had been her stylists since she was perhaps ten, and she cared for them both deeply. They both had their skin dyed, Apollo's a bright yellow, and Artemis's a neon green, different colors shown only on the tattoos that covered their body's. Their hair was the color of their siblings' skin, which Guinevere found amusing.

Her dress was a black and gold texture fabric, and she wore a more natural look on her eyes, though her lips were a bright cherry red. Her hair was down in curls to her waist, and although her black heels were incredibly tall, she only just grazed the height of 5 feet 8 inches. She wore an anchor necklace with pearls as her earrings. She had a gold cuff on her wrist that she kept fiddling with.

She would be standing beside her father during his speech, so she needed to look her best in front of Panem. This would be her first year doing this and she was understandably nervous.

Apollo suddenly clapped his hands together and said, "It's time, Gwen! We have to go! The Parade starts in fifteen minutes."

She nodded. "Okay. Thank you guys so much." She was careful not to touch her hair or face, too worried that she was going to mess something up.

Artemis, calmer than her brother, smiled serenely. "You're welcome, darling. Enjoy yourself."

The elevator beeped, and Guinevere rushed into it. It took her to the third floor, and she found herself to the balcony that her father was standing in. He turned, giving her a smile.

"Guinevere," he greeted softly. "Come here, it's almost time to begin."

He lead her over to the balcony, where there was a curtain covering it. She could hear the murmur of voices coming from the big stadium. "You look beautiful," her father said. "I'm proud."

"Are you?" she snapped, though he ignored her and kept the pleasant smile on his face.

"I hope you're prepare to speak, my dear," he said, and she could hear a mischievous tone in his voice. She nodded tersely, clenching her jaw tightly. Tallke had been over what she was going to be saying during her speech. "Good. Now be a good girl and smile." She complied.

The curtain suddenly opened, and the Capitol citizens began screaming in excitement. Her father laughed heartily, opening his arms wide in something like a greeting. "Welcome, to the Tribute Parade of the 65th Annual Hunger Games!" The screamed in reply, and Guinevere found herself trying not to wince at the obscene volume.

The first tributes began to roll out on their chariots, and Guinevere kept her hands clasped in front of her. The first tributes were covered in miniscule diamonds, and the second were holding swords, dressed in something that she couldn't really figure out. She watch as Four rolled out, dressed in nets. The girl, Natalie, she believed her name was, had only her breasts covered by the small patches of netting that hung over her chest like a bra. The same with the bottom half of her body.

Finnick, on the other hand, had his chest bare, and it was just as lean and tan as the rest of him. He was grinning cockily, and his arms rippled as he waved. His nets were only covering his crotch area, though he didn't seem to care that he was so exposed. Guinevere found herself blushing a light pink as he flicked his eyes up towards her.

Soon every chariot had pulled in they were all in a half circle, looking towards the President and his daughter to make their speeches. Guinevere was first. She stepped forward and stood in front of the small microphone.

"Good evening, citizens of the Capitol, and tributes!" her soft voice was amplified so that it almost surprised her by the intensity of it. "I'd like to wish our tribute the best of luck in this year's games. I have some news and changes of this year to tell you." She swallowed thickly, her legs shaking ever so slightly. "This year, I am working for the Gamemakers, and am going to be observing on each district's floor for an hour each day so that we can use data during the games." The tributes looked at each other in confusion.

The citizens were practically vibrating in excitement. "Again, I wish the tributes the best of luck. May the odds be ever in your favor!"

The crowd cheered, and her eyed flickered briefly to the tributes. Finnick was staring at her with something like frustration, and Guinevere couldn't figure out why.

Her father stepped up, and she let him take the microphone. "Thank you, Guinevere."

He went on and on about how being a tribute was an honor and that he labeled them all with courage and sacrifice. She tuned him out, and she figured that most of the tributes did too, judging by their blank faces.

Soon, they were dismissed, and even sooner after that, Guinevere was taking off her dress and crawling into bed.

But her dreams were plagued of the innocent faces of the tributes.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you so much to the reviewers; I appreciated you input on my story so far!**_

**_-Chapter published on November 25, 2014-_**

_**Hold my hand,**__  
><em>_**Ooh, baby, it's a long way down to the bottom of the river.**___

_**Bottom of the River; Delta Rae**___

_-_-

Tallke had sent one of his assistants to wake her up the next morning at six o'clock. He had given her vague details about what she was to look for in the tributes, only saying that she should look for anything that would seem suspicious or that contained ill intentions towards the Capitol. It was on her father's order, apparently.

Shaking off the small feeling of suspicion she could feel rising in her chest, she stepped into the shower, pressing the button so that the hot water came on. She hissed in pain, but didn't move away from the spray, knowing that she would adjust to it in a minute. Guinevere hummed absentmindedly while she showered, remembering vaguely the short tune that her mother would sing to her.

She stepped out when she was done, quickly drying herself off and dressing herself, eager to start her day. She was admittedly not as put off at the idea of her new job now, and instead was almost reluctantly excited to finally interact (well, not really) with other people other than her father. Guinevere glanced at herself in the mirror, taking in the clothes that Apollo had set out for her. He and his sister had apparently thought that she should look professional, as they set out a white blouse and a pencil skirt with a pair of flats. She chuckled fondly at her reflection and quickly braided her hair before she stepped out into the hallway.

The assistant was waiting impatiently outside my door, tapping his foot against the floor every second. He noticed her. "Finally," he hissed, rolling his yellow eyes. "We're going to be late."

Guinevere's eyes furrowed together in confusion. "But it's not even seven yet. The tributes don't wake up until at least eight." He rolled his eyes again, and in return, she rolled hers, which only seemed to further irritate him. "Just-Let's go."

Clutching her tablet tightly to her chest as she made her way up to the second floor of the Training Center (which was actually District One's floor due to the fact that the training room was the first), Guinevere tapped the fingers of her other hands on her thigh anxiously. She had never really been around children close to her age, besides maybe her father's acquaintance's child on a special occasion, and even then, they had only stood together quietly as the men would greet each other. She'd never held an actual conversation before with another teenager.

The elevator made a beeping noise as the twin doors slid open slowly. Guinevere gnawed on her lip, careful to make sure that it wouldn't bleed. The first thing she noticed was the dining table, which was full, as the tributes, stylists, and mentors were all having breakfast together. They glanced up as she walked in, and the two tributes glowered in her directions. Their mentors eyed her with what Guinevere could tell was poorly hidden hate, and she lowered her eyes to the floor as she made her way over to a chair in the corner, her excitement for her new job finally deflating.

The hour had passed quickly, and soon she was done with One, and had about another five hours until Two was back from training. At twelve o'clock, she took the elevator to Two's floor, and they had acted similarly to District One, with barely concealed glares as she once again chose a seat in the corner (she assumed all of the floors had a corner seat). District Three was simply quiet, with fleeting, and less hostile, glances towards her. Throughout the three hours, Guinevere wasn't completely sure what to write down on her tablet, choosing to write down whatever she heard, like what their districts were like and what they thought of the Capitol and its people.

Soon enough, she was arriving on the fifth floor, and when she stepped out of the elevator, all eyes were on her again. They were sitting on the couch in the living area, flipping through the channels on the television. The stylists seemed to be absent, but the mentors and Tributes were there. The two tributes, Finnick and Natalie, sat on the couch, while their mentor Mags, and elderly woman that was probably in her late sixties or her early seventies, sat in the chair next to them. She gave the blonde girl a faint, almost pitying smile as she glanced to her.

Natalie shot a smirk at Finnick as she walked in and he deliberately looked away from his district partner, instead turning his gaze to the television in front of him. Guinevere took her seat in the corner chair once again, feeling the older girl's gaze on her again.

After about fifteen minutes with the only sound being the television, someone cleared their throat. Guinevere allowed herself to glance up from her blank tablet, only to find all eyes on her.

_Finnick_

Natalie was grinning at Finnick, though she tried to cover it up with the palm of her hand. She had been eyeing Guinevere and him the whole time, switching between the both of them, and at one point, she had even wiggled her eyebrows at him.

Finnick rolled his eyes in response, mouthing, 'Stop' as she continued to tease him. He had been an acquaintance to Natalie back in District Four, and they had talked a few times and on fairly friendly terms with each other. Natalie was skilled with spears, though she couldn't throw them very far, perhaps ten feet at most. Her skills had definitely shown in training that day, which had not gone as bad as he would've thought.

_Natalie twirled the spear in her hand, and then bounced it lightly, testing the weight, before she swung the sharp end towards the dummy, spearing it through the stomach. The other Careers, who were watching closely, along with Finnick, raised their eyebrows as she started to spin the spear and attack all of the remaining dummies until they were all pierced in lethal spots. _

_Finally, Natalie stood up straight, looking to a dummy that stood ten feet away, throwing the spear with all her strength, piercing it through the head._

_"She's in," The boy from Two, Bruce, said. He looked mildly impressed. He turned to glance at Finnick, grinning menacingly at his 5'11" height. "What can you do, pretty boy?"_

_"I know how to use a trident," Finnick said confidently. _

_Bruce chuckled, looking at his district partner, Adelaide. "How fitting." _

_Finnick clenched his jaw, moving towards the row of different sized tridents. He took a fairly big one into his hand, gripping it until it felt right. He walked slowly towards the new set of dummies, looking back to see Natalie grinning cheekily at him, motioning for him to go on. _

_Finnick swung the trident to the right, jabbing it into the dummy's chest. Then to the left, stabbing it upwards into another's chin. Then one's stomach. Raising it above his head and launching it into the dummy's head._

_He backed up, and he saw that Bruce had his arms crossed, eyebrows still raised. He didn't believe that Finnick was good enough yet, so he backed up, trident still in his hand._

_He launched it about fifteen feet in front of him, and it embedded itself in the dummy's chest. Finnick turned back to them, and Bruce and the District One boy, Markus, seemed to be almost angry._

_"Fine," Bruce hissed. "You're in."_

_Finnick smirked triumphantly._

Guinevere had her head up from its ducked position, blue eyes flicking carefully between all three of them. He noticed that her eyes were the exact same color as her father's; the same icy blue that had made him shiver when he had seen them on the big screen at the parade.

"So what exactly are you supposed to be observing about us?" Natalie asked, breaking the silence that filled the room. Guinevere lifted her head a fraction of an inch more, her eyes afraid and wide.

"Uh- I'm-I'm-"she stuttered. "I'm not exactly allowed to t-tell you about that."

Finnick could feel his anger bubbling within his throat, and he leaned forwards, angling his body towards her. "Well, why not?"

Guinevere shook her head. "I don't know."

"Well, why don't you?" he spat. She reared back in shock, and Natalie placed her hand on the younger boy's arm, but he shrugged her off. Mags watched in concern as he tensed even more. "Most of us are going to die with a week or two anyway! Why can't you just—"

"Finnick," Mags murmured. "Calm down."

He looked to her, breathing deeply through his nose. Then he turned to Guinevere, whose eyes had looked anywhere but him, and willed his voice to be even. The sight of her looking so stressed and upset caused him to calm down a little. "I'm sorry."

"I—"She started. "It's fine."

"I need to go lay down." He got up, and walked down the hallway, slamming his door shut.

_Guinevere_

Later that evening, at nearly eleven thirty, Guinevere returned home. She had brought her data home on request of her father, and she found him waiting in the living room, sipping a cup of tea.

He stood at her arrival, but made no move to approach her as she came closer. She stood in front of him and he gave her a stiff embrace to which she wrapped her arms awkwardly around him. He stroked her hair once, before pulling back and motioning to the seat in front of her. She sat down.

Guinevere watched as his eyes scanned over what she had written down on the tablet notepad, his eyebrows drawing down and his lips curving into a frown. He looked back up at her after a moment.

"Is this all?" He asked disappointedly. She nodded hesitantly.

"No one made it clear what I was supposed to write down…" Guinevere trailed off. His eyes darkened.

"I thought it would be obvious." Her father sipped his tea again, and she could see he was trying to keep himself composed. "I wanted to see if anything was being said that would be threatening to the Capitol_. Important information_. Not small, petty things like what the girl from District Eight does in her free time."

"I'm sorry, father," she mumbled. Suddenly, realization hit her. Narrowing her eyes, she stated, "You're looking for signs of treason in the districts, aren't you?"

He was silent, and she gave an incredulous laugh. "Oh my god, you're ridiculous!"

In a second, he was in front of her, gripping her chin tightly in his hand. She winced from his grip; it may even bruise. He looked into her eyes, smiling coldly. "The districts' relationships have grown strained, my dear. They've been strained for a long time." His voice was soft, though his tone was not. "This is not a laughing matter, Guinevere. For if a rebellion were to be upon us, you would be one of the first to go." He let her chin go and stroked her hair back. "Tomorrow, get useful information."

Stalking away, he said over his shoulder, "Goodnight, daughter."

Guinevere was shaking in something that she could only describe as fear.

Her father was right.

She'd most likely be a rebel's first target.


End file.
